


Apology

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adultery, Apologies, Character Study, Christian Character, F/M, Guilt, MeToo, Past Rape/Non-con, Prayer, Redemption, Serial Rapist, perpetrator pov, rapist pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:02:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sometimes a man has to hit rock bottom to realize he's done wrong.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 1
Collections: Anonymous





	Apology

**Author's Note:**

> Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Sometimes a man has to hit rock bottom to realize he's done wrong.

A priest would've said he was in the wrong from the moment he looked at another woman. A monk would have bowed his head solemnly and agreed. But he's not a religious man, and he's sure as hell not a monk.

When his feet are on the iron, of course he screams _Mercy!_ Of course he screams, _I'm sorry!_ But that doesn't bring him any closer to knowing how to make it right.

He's done a lot of running from himself. A lot of running into one-night stands, liaisons and dalliances. Well, he's untouchable now. He hates it, but it's good. All that running got him here, and there's nowhere he wants to be less than here.

“I'm sorry,” he says, quietly, in the spare bedroom because it's the rich man's version of sleeping on the couch. He hopes no one hears. He hopes Someone hears. “I did something wrong.”

He laughs, a little. He's come all this way, come up against a wall, turned around and _still_ can't name what's chasing him. “I—” _raped a girl_ he can't say, “—am guilty—” he knows he's guilty this isn't new, isn't what he has to say, what he's responsible for putting into words, “—of sexual assault. I didn't read the law, I don't know what a lawyer would say.”

_Any penetration, no matter how slight_

“I might be innocent, in the most technical sense, of—of a crime the courts would care to name. But I name it here. I—violated—a woman. Women. Sexually. I did wrong by them.” _And in so doing did wrong by myself—by my family—_ no. No, this isn't about him.

He won't make this about him.

“I did wrong by these women. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was wrong to see what I wanted to see, and blind myself to their pain. If I wasn't doing something wrong, why did I hide the evidence even from myself? I am guilty—” _I am sorry_ “—of sexual assault, and of obstruction of the justice of my soul. I will pay the price—willingly, and would pay it again—twice and thrice over—to remove—”

He can't make more words for a time, breathing hard. He bites his lip, realizes it's dry, drinks some water from the glass by his bed. He waits for the strength to speak again.

It doesn't come. He speaks anyway.

“I would pay the price. Twice, and thrice over, to erase, to—even to ameliorate, the damage I have done—knowingly, recklessly. I did not see it, I chose not to see it. I see it now. I have no right to be surprised. I have no right to be—”

 _Injured,_ he almost says, but that's not right, is it? Injury isn't earned. Isn't deserved. That would be too simple.

“I have no right,” he continues, “to place this injury above the injuries that I have inflicted, which cry out for healing. And healing from a wound such as this, if there is any justice I can provide, I will do what I can—I—I fear I am not strong enough.” His head hangs in shame. He couldn't say that anywhere else. But here, speaking to empty air, it's easier. Not easy. Never easy, but easier.

“I may not be strong enough,” he whispers, “but I am here. And I am—glad—I am thankful. Here, and now. To everyone who stopped me. And that thanks, no one—no one has to accept it. I wouldn't accept it. I am a wretched— _pathetic_ creature; the gratitude of a coward who could only confess—alone, and only after—everything. Means nothing. Should mean nothing to you. But I must feel it. I must know it—if only for myself—that _I am_ glad to be stopped.”


End file.
